


Set the Fire to the Third Bar

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-17 22:59:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/872929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>xposted on fanfiction.net</p><p>Music: "Set the Fire to the Third Bar" by Snow Patrol feat. Martha Wainwright</p><p>Happy birthday Midorima! (A couple hours early here, but whatever)</p></blockquote>





	Set the Fire to the Third Bar

It’s three AM. Midorima Shintarou should be in bed, catching the few precious moments of sleep that he can get every night. He cannot afford to go too long without rest; he needs to observe every little detail and be oh-so-precise with his hands. But tonight the surgeon lies on the double bed with the phone receiver stuck on his ear (the only reason they have a land line is because a rotary phone was the lucky item of the day a while ago). He’s been like this for half an hour, occasionally saying something, but listening intently for the words and the sound of breathing coming from the other end.

The voice on the other end of the phone says, “I miss you.” Then, “I’ll be home soon.”

“Try not to die,” says Midorima.

A sharp intake of breath. “Roger.” And then, silence. At the other end is (was) a cell phone. There’s no muffled click to signify the end of a call, just a nothing.

Midorima cradles the receiver in his right hand for a few seconds and then sits up, placing it back on top of the rotary.

The bed’s too big, is always too big when he’s alone. He hates this feeling, the pit in his stomach, the unrest. It’s harder to fall asleep alone. It’s quieter. Every sound he hears puts him on edge. Even if he’s not always touching Kise, having the other man there relaxes something inside him. He wouldn’t breathe a word of any of this to anyone, not even—no, especially not—Kise himself (he might get an even bigger ego).

Midorima takes off his glasses, lies down. Takao had given him a joke gift years ago, a book full of breathing and sleeping exercises (“because Shin-chan always looks so stressed out and on edge!”) and while Takao will never know and probably never even suspect, that book actually contains some useful information. Midorima likes to solve his problems himself. He will never take sleeping pills, never try just staying up forever until he crashes and doesn’t think at all about his surroundings. No, there is a logical solution to this inability to sleep alone. The book had come along at a most opportune time. He imagines a map of the world, breathing in rhythm. He imagines the spot where Tokyo is, glowing. He is here. He begins to imagine, one by one, every city he’s ever visited glowing. Nagasaki, Osaka, Matsue, Kyoto, Sapporo, Yokohama, Nara…and outside of Japan, too, Moscow, Seoul, Toronto, Los Angeles, Phoenix, Mexico City…and where is Kise now? He’s on the final leg of this trip, right now on a long layover in Singapore. Where else did he go on this trip? Methodically reciting each city on the list of donations, Midorima finally falls asleep.

* * *

 

Midorima meets him after work the next day, almost quarter to eleven. The yellow eyes are streaked with red but Kise still looks cheerful. He’s exhausted but relieved to be home, relieved to be with Midorima. He places his hand in Midorima’s jacket pocket, and Midorima allows this. It’s not that noticeable; no one’s paying attention to them in the airport. They’re trying to find suitcases and family members and cups of coffee, and their eyes slide past the pair of tall young men ambling toward the exit together.

They’ve been through this routine so many times, the same exact actions over and over until they’ve lost count but it doesn’t matter because when Midorima shoves Kise up against the car after they put his baggage in the trunk in the dark parking lot and kisses him, the rush of endorphins is nearly nauseating and leaves Kise totally breathless and almost senseless, too. He throws his arms around Midorima’s neck with a sudden burst of energy and presses his whole body against the other’s, wrapping his legs around Midorima’s and burying his face in Midorima’s chest. He’s missed this so much, has missed Midorima so much, needs to run his fingers through the soft green hair again and again and again and gaze into those eyes framed by gorgeous lashes and lick and poke and bite the taut arm muscles so they flex and relax and feel those long, elegant, bandaged fingers on his cock but he’s so tired right now and he just wants, needs, craves without doing anything. He needs there to be a comfortable spot nearby and for both of their clothes to just disappear right now, but he opens his eyes and there is still a jacket and a shirt between him and Midorima’s bare, muscled chest and he whines softly.

Midorima tries to step backward. “Not here,” he hisses.

Kise reaches behind him, gropes the car for the door and tries to pull it open. It’s locked. With a rueful sigh, he steps away from Midorima and lets him unlock the doors.

“That’s the back door,” Midorima states as Kise reaches back again without looking.

“I know.” Kise grins, opens the door, and falls back, pulling Midorima inside with him. Midorima hastily shuts the door behind them as Kise has already started to unzip Midorima’s jacket.

“Someone’s going to see,” Midorima says as he shrugs his arms out of the jacket.

“Not unless they look through the windshield, and we’re facing a pillar,” Kise replies, unbuttoning Midorima’s shirt and grazing his long fingernails (has he cut them at all during this trip?) against Midorima’s chest, making him gasp.

Midorima actually shuts up for once and focuses on Kise, and it’s just short breaths and moans and no words. They don’t need words right now, just gestures and sounds and one another. They cling to one another, hands intertwining, and after they finish, legs intertwining as well.

Still, time is ticking. Midorima buttons up his shirt most of the way and zips up his pants, and clamors into the front seat. Kise’s half asleep, attempting to button his own shirt but doing it all wrong. Midorima turns on the car and oh fuck it’s almost midnight. The lot closes at quarter after twelve, so they need to get out of there. Kise, only halfway dressed and less than halfway awake, gets into the passenger seat but Midorima has to help with his seatbelt. He’s really tired; the sex wore him out completely. He’s all jet-lagged, too, and he’d been far away from home for almost three weeks so it’s really to be expected. He really looks cute, finally relaxed, tension gone from his shoulders, eyes closed and smiling.

Midorima puts the car into reverse and backs out of the parking space. He drives out of the lot, and then out of the airport and through Narita back to Tokyo. He stops at a red light, looks at the sleeping man beside him again.

“I missed you,” he says, quietly.

“I know,” Kise replies without opening his eyes, reaching out one hand and placing it on Midorima’s.

**Author's Note:**

> xposted on fanfiction.net
> 
> Music: "Set the Fire to the Third Bar" by Snow Patrol feat. Martha Wainwright
> 
> Happy birthday Midorima! (A couple hours early here, but whatever)


End file.
